


Quackwerks

by Pharaoh_Ink



Category: Darkwing Duck (Cartoon), The Office (US)
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-10-12 07:44:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17463425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pharaoh_Ink/pseuds/Pharaoh_Ink
Summary: Typical office life. Atypical work residents. A look into the time spent under the Quackwerks Corporation.





	1. The Promotion

Everyone had a job now, it was true. The unemployment rate wasn't a thing anymore. Nobody ever got fired, and also you couldn't quit. Where else would you go? Everyone in St. Canard found themselves at Quackwerks, for better or worse, and probably till death do them part. But there were a lot of cons that came with the company. Not just convicts, but actual cons, like... no crime. The no crime thing might've been a misleadingly good thing, but the city had always had its own strange thrill of tourist attractions, like grown men dressing as freakishly bad as possible and carrying out stage play fights as if they were still in the fifth grade. Some of them even had actual mutant powers, which was kind of cool. Duckburg can't say that, can they?  
  
... _Can_ they?

Crime-bots put a stop to that though, and any other misdemeanor. Sometimes it wasn't even a law that was broken, like singing a bad song too loudly, people can't get arrested for that, right? _WRONG_. How things had changed.

"Employee group 421, I have an announcement." An older gentleman stood in front of the maze of cubicles, "As of today we're announcing a newly appointed team manager to the group in order to direct workflow as seamlessly as possible. You'll be reporting to him....or her...with the completion of your projects, questions that you won't have....etcetera. We feel it is..." A sigh. _"Important_ for you to have a figure to report to...that you identify with...because he is not a robot. We've received complaints that the robot has not been working out, that it makes you all a bit uncomfortable to be stared at and judged by it."

A hand rose.

".... _What._ "

"The robot wasn't a good manager. I tried to request a vacation day and it denied me, which probably indicates there was something wrong with the programming or something."

"....No. The programming is fine. Anyway, this is mostly to encourage people to continue to make suggestions to corporate, we're here for your...needs. Not all of them, just business related." Another sigh. " _What is it Elmo?_ "

"So since you're laying the robot manager off, where is he supposed to work? What will become of his service here? Does he get a severance package?"

"It's a robot, it doesn't get a severance."

 _"HOW COULD YOU?!_ He's served you well for these past few months! Think of how many sleepless nights here at the office he had to pull! He hasn't seen his family in weeks, he doesn't even know what his son looks like anymore!"

"The robot doesn't have a family, I will again remind you that it is a robot. That does not reproduce. Or feel. So. Anyway. Your new group leader is Drake Mallard."

" _Ahhhh-yup, yup, yup_...no need to ah, applaud, ladies and gentlemen, but...feel free to."

The office was silent.

"...Anytime is fine, I was just being...courteous. Ahem. Uhm. WELL! I'd like to thank those of you who put in a good recommendation for me!"

"...No one recommended you, Drake. You volunteered. And you wouldn't leave my office. You were very adamant about it."

"No, I...I don't think I remember that."

"You also listed reasons for why everyone else was unqualified."

" _EXCUSE ME!_ I also nominated myself as office manager!" Elmo thrust his arm into the air, balancing on his swivel chair. "Why was I not considered?! I have twice the managing skills as _DRAKE MALLARD_ , I have managed dozens of heists during my moonlit romps through the city, liberating those who have suffered! What have YOU done in the last five years?!"

"...I mean." Drake gestured vaguely. "That's a pretty good reason right there. Even you have to admit that."

"Either way, no one else wanted the responsibility. Also there's no pay raise. I've made that clear."

"I also get a business card, don't I?"

"No."

"...Every manager should have one."

"You manage one group, Drake. 421 is the only group that reports to you. You don't delegate, you just manage. And you accept the reports. And you compile them. And you forward them."

"...That sounds like a lot of tedious work that deserves a pay raise. And a business card."

"...If I go downtown and laminate some cards for you, will you feel better?"

"....I would like the cards, yes."

"Great, you'll have them by lunch. Please make sure to get everyone's reports on time and forward them in an orderly fashion." Drake headed back to his desk, giving a few champion waves to the people as he did so. It was important to be humble though, he didn't want anyone becoming TOO jealous of his new position of authority.

"You only won because you're a master manipulator." Elmo scowled, narrowing his eyes behind his thick frames. "You whispered lies into his ear, you had it out for the _true_ manager all along!"

"I wonder if I can get an office to myself." Drake sank into the chair of his cubicle, which was sadly shared by Elmo Sputterspark, who preferred Megavolt, but they'd already gotten their identification security cards in the mail."A nice big office, with no unwanted guests. Just maybe a ficus."

"Another life-form for you to lie to, but I know the truth about you! You lead a double life! A life of mystery and a threat and danger to us all!" Elmo grabbed his desk lamp, yanking it to meet the side of his head. " _What's that you say?!_ He takes the bus? Only a man hiding the truth from people would ride in such an anonymous fashion!"

"....You take the bus too. We _all_ take the bus."

There was a squeaky sound as Elmo prodded the lamp back into place before he finally swiveled around, "That's where you're wrong, _Mallard_. I only take the bus to throw you all off the scent. What I'm _REALLY_ doing is following you, seeing what you're really up to, as a man of science does."

"You mean riding to work in an anonymous fashion to spy on people and mislead them about what you're doing?"

"Ye- _NO! NO! WHY DO YOU KEEP DOING THIS?_! You twist my words! You drive me crazy! I'm going to go _insane_ sitting here next to you! You live to torment me!" There was a storm of pens and pencils that rained down on them both, and Drake could only sigh, staring ahead at his computer screen.

This was going to be a long wait to lunch.


	2. Settling In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drake Mallard adjusts to his role as manager. It goes about as well as you'd expect.

"Hey Drake, congratulations on the promotion."

Drake fiddled with the paper, a few pesky sugar granule clumps stuck together at the bottom of the small packet as he tapped it out into his coffee. "Oh, thanks! Yeah, a _lot_ of responsibility, but I'll be able to tackle it no problem. Just another chapter in my life. My very productive, exciting life."

"... _Right_. Well I'm glad someone took it. They actually offered the job to Hamilton but he turned it down. Said it was beneath him."

Drake stirred up his coffee before adding another sugar packet. "Well not everyone can see the perks of being a manager, it's tough work."

"He was a business owner, so this whole situation is a huge step down for him."

"Owning a business is also tough work, not for the faint of heart!"

"Well when Quackwerks took over everything--"

" _Yeah, yeah_ \- listen, some people are just cut out for management, and others aren't, and that's okay, he shouldn't feel upset about it." Drake took a sip before abruptly spitting it out. "Okay, I think that's enough of that..." He pushed the remaining sugar away, lifting his tie to wipe at his tongue.

* * *

 

"Do I think Drake Mallard should've gotten the position?" Preena leaned close, "...Is this off the record? I mean I know you guys have cameras everywhere to make sure we're all working, but the whole recording and interviewing us thing is...it's creepy, and it's why the last robot we had here was replaced by...by..." Preena looked through the window of the break room to Drake, who was now pouring the remains of his coffee directly into the garbage can. " _That._ I agree that it's beneath Ham though. Which is... probably why Drake Mallard is in this position."

* * *

 

"I'm actually in group 567, and they asked me if I'd transfer over to 421 to manage, because of my background in business, and I said _'are you kidding me?'_ Because there's no incentive. It's demeaning. There's no pay raise. No added benefits. What idiot would go for that job?" Hamilton shook his head, straightening out his suit lapels.

* * *

 

"I don't want to toot my own horn, but what the heck." Drake raised his now empty mug. "You see, some people are born as natural leaders. And others are better suited as followers. Well Drake Mallard is no follower, and I would know. Because I am him."

* * *

 

Drake stood in the front of the cubicle maze, clapping his hands together. "Attention everyone! Your new manager, slash leader, slash...boss...slash...ruler...has an announcement!" There was the usual clacking of keyboards in response to the new interruption, and he sighed, grabbing a wheelie chair from nearby and moving to stand on it. " _ATTENTION!_ As your newly appointed manager, I just wanted to take the time out to say that though I have a new job, things won't change our relationship, I will still treat you all like coworkers...except I am now in charge of you all and you report to me, so I guess this actually does change our relationship a little bit. I'm not saying I'm better than you, but it's... _implied_."

" _Question._ " Elmo raised his hand, narrowing his eyes. "What exactly qualifies you for this position, and is there room for an assistant manager?"

"A terrible question and as manager, I am ordering you to retract it."

"Can I rephrase it?"

"No."

"Can I start it with a noun?"

"...I don't think it'll matter. The problem isn't the form in which you submit your question, it's just that you're asking it."

"What if I submit it in writing?"

 _"_ Meg-... _Elmo_ , no. Don't submit anything to me."

* * *

 

It was already off to a great start. The office was.. _.office-ing_ as per usual, with little to no disruption in the workflow. That was good at least, Drake's title hadn't caused any waves. He would've been just as gracious of course, had someone else gotten the position.

But probably not if Hamilton had gotten it.

"Our branch is accounting, specifically. We figure out where our best sales are, compile that data, and send it to the higher ups for review. It's not the most exciting of jobs, but it's not like there's anything else on the market right now. It's not like I can pursue other interests or passions...exciting...thrilling...night-scapes with death-defying stunts, mysterious... _mysteries hidden in moonlit midnights_..." Drake stared wistfully ahead. "...And now I'm a manager. What more could a man want?"

* * *

 

Noon finally rolled around, and Drake's general manager rolled in. "Drake. I trust you've adjusted and you're making sure everyone's reports are running smoothly."

"Yes, Mr. Starling, but I also wanted to run a proposition by you- I think I should have my own office. You know, not out in the open. And also not sharing it with someone who drinks battery acid like cola." Drake glanced over his shoulder at Elmo, who was currently gnawing at a battery like it was a cube of cheese.

"...Noted, but as of right now, there is no such space for you to accommodate, so in the meantime, you'll just have to make do with your desk here. Now, about the reports-"

" _OH!_ And the cards, you did get the cards right? I just want to seem more official."

"...Cards....oh, right. The cards. I knew I forgot something. Uh. I'll be back with those once I've read over the noon reports. Do you have them compiled yet?"

"Yes, Mr. Starling, I'll forward those to your email address. _Sendiiiiing_...." He circled his finger around the key before pressing it. "-- _Eh now_! Consider it sent. And accurate."

"Great. That's all I needed, Drake. I'll be expecting one more report from you by the end of the workday, before you close out."

* * *

 

A mere hour later, Drake was hunched over his desk with his phone pressed to his head, "Of course we're still on for tonight. I can't wait to see you too. Oh really? Is it that lacy thing? _You know, the one with the spider-web pattern_ \--"

"Drake. My office please." Mr. Starling stood over his cubicle, prompting him to abruptly murmur a brief, stilted goodbye into the receiver before following his boss out of the maze and down the hall to his room.

"I cannot stress enough that the accuracy of these reports have to be filed in a timely manner. Now there are several reports missing from this PDF you sent me- our sales of glow sticks, peanut butter cookies, and shelving units. I need you to figure out who was in charge of monitoring those numbers and get that report for me so I can forward them all to my superiors."

" _Wh_ \--they should all be there, everyone sent me their attachments. I don't understand. It won't happen again though, Mr. Starling, I assure you! I will get to the bottom of this! I'll find the lackadaisical leech who's shirked their duties and punish them severely!"

"....Right. Just. Remember, you're there to be personable, provide empathy, and be relatable to your peers."

* * *

 

Once dismissed, Drake stalked around the corner back to the maze, glaring out at the cubicles.

"I'm _very_ relatable!" Drake narrowed his eyes, shrugging. "For future reference. The idea that he has to tell me to remember to be relatable is absurd, because I am always relatable, when my employees come to me for...I don't know, a sharp pencil, or advice, or a shoulder to lean on, I...I give them...you know what, that's not a great example because who doesn't have a pencil in this day and age? Who comes to work without writing utensils, it's like going to surgery without a scalpel! If you're that ignorant that you don't bring a pencil to work, that's no one's fault but your own, and that's that."

* * *

 

After returning to his desk to look over his emails, Drake finally leaned back with annoyance, slowly turning in his swivel chair to his cubicle mate. " _Elmo_. Is there something you forgot to do today?"

Elmo sat hunched over his keyboard, shifting in his seat as he paused his typing to look upwards to the ceiling with thought. "Mm...I thought I was doing pretty well lately. Let's see...I had oatmeal for breakfast this morning...pretty sure I turned off the stove...wait, I didn't have oatmeal, it was a protein bar. Or was it a shake."

"No, not that far back, I mean like here, at work."

"Brought my Tron lunchbox this time...did not leave it on the bus for once."

" _Elmo_ \--"

" _UNDERWEAR_! I knew I was forgetting something!"

" _What?!_ That's disgusting, no! Your-- _ugh_ , I'm just going to pretend I didn't hear that. Your _REPORT?_ You know, the thing the company pays you to do daily, the report you're supposed to submit to me, so I don't look like an incompetent _idiot_ on my first day as manager?"

"Oh. But I thought you said not to."

"Not to _WHAT?_ "

"You specifically said I should not submit anything to you."

"I said no such thing!"

"You did, in front of the entire office actually, they all heard. I asked a question, then you said you wanted me to retract it, then you said--"

* * *

 

Drake was now staring into the camera, glowering as he crossed his arms. "You know, for a guy who claims to have memory damage on the basis of personal, continual, sustained injuries...he's very _selective_. With his details. And when he chooses to remember them."

Elmo poked his head over the cubicle from afar, a wide grin spread over his face.


	3. The New Office

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drake searches for a new office befitting of his position.

"My name is Dr. Reginald Bushroot, for the record. This will be on the record right? It's just kind of a pet peeve of mine when people forget my title, because...I mean, I may be a mutant of my own volition, but I have a doctorate in botany and I'd like for it to remain recognized, even if I may or may not have engaged in questionably criminal activities in the past. As of right now though, I'm in research and development here at Quackwerks, and I've tried to tell these guys that a researcher and a scientist are not the same thing but...nobody listens to the plant guy. What else is new?" Reginald stared with a sullen expression, shrugging his leafy appendages. "I guess it beats prison, though."

* * *

 

 

Drake Mallard burst into the office, looking winded more than usual as he collapsed into his chair, wheezing. "The elevator's broken for the second time this month, why, why is it broken, why does a company with this kind of power have elevators that don't work--"

 

His cubicle mate glared over his shoulder, scooching his chair further away. "Well maybe if you didn't exert the elevators with such high demand every day and took the stairs a little more often, you'd find them to be in better operative health."

 

"Oh come on, Elmo, an elevator has one function, even you, as deluded as you are, have to concede that the only quality of life an elevator can have is to go up and down, and that's what it's best at, and the least we can all do is be supportive of that!"

 

"Your laziness is no excuse to impose your will onto devices to haul you up to your job every day!"

* * *

 

"We go back a long time, actually. I've known the guy since high school. Elmo Sputterspark is...not to use an appropriately ironic idiom, but he is not the brightest bulb in the...place where you would keep bulbs. At least not about normal things, like holding conversation with people without seeming insane. Is insane an insensitive way of putting it? I never know in this day and age what words we can still use. But criminally insane is one of the words I would use. He's a genius in things like electricity, mechanical engineering, that sort of thing, but everything else is a lost cause. I've actually been hailed as a genius myself, my GPA was outstanding, my I.Q. was way above my average peers. You don't see me behaving erratically." Drake scoffed into the camera, shaking his head. 

* * *

 

"I have no idea what he's talking about. I never went to high school with Drake Mallard." Elmo sneered. "He's a really delusional guy. Between you and me, he's a few screws loose. Also I'm pretty sure he's a spy or something, sent here to pose as an unlikable idiot, surveying us for company secrets. He really plays a convincing role. I hate him."

 

* * *

"In high school, my husband used to beat up guys like Drake Mallard and Elmo Sputterspark. And subsequently, Drake Mallard and Elmo Sputterspark. I watched." Preena picked a speck of lint off of her skirt. "They haven't changed a bit. Neither have I. I'll be honest, I'd watch my husband beat the tar out of them again. But seeing as how one of them is technically my boss now, I guess I can't say that...so I'll just think it instead."

* * *

 

Drake leaned back in his seat, causing it to squeak a few times as he stretched. His nervous energy was starting to kick in, a sense of listlessness. As he squeaked, Elmo winced, shoulders slowly creeping upwards.

 

"Do you have to make that sound?! I am TRYING to work!"

 

"You know, I feel I could be doing so much more with my talent and experience. Compiling data is so beneath my potential. I could be contributing to this company, making the wheels turn, being the idea man!" 

 

"Or you could just do what you're paid for, like everyone else. STOP KNOCKING INTO ME!"

 

"For starters, I deserve an area where I can thrive, think freely without having to work beside annoyed cubicle mates."

 

"Good idea, I hear there's a great place for that in the men's bathroom, so why don't you go and think there?!"

 

"Actually I was thinking that we allocate part of the break room to me, as manager."

 

"...The side with the espresso maker?"

 

"Yes."

 

There was a slam of hands down onto the desk that Drake could feel rattling his own pens and keyboard, and he looked over with a quirked brow. 

 

"WHY ARE YOU SO SELFISH?! That espresso maker deserves more, and the last thing I'd ever want is for her to end up in your company every day! This is so like you- you take a job from an innocent man-"

 

"That was a robot."

 

"-AND NOW THIS! Why are you NEVER satisfied? What will it take, huh?! Before you're through, you'll have ALL our jobs! AND THE WOMEN!"

 

"Firstly, I can't take what you don't have, Elmo, and if you did date someone, I severely doubt that I would also be interested in that person, because they're probably your lamp, and your toaster, and I have something called standards. And sanity. Secondly, I want respect and I want to be taken seriously, is that so hard to ask for? I want an office to signify my status as your superior!"

* * *

 

"STANDARDS, he says. Like he knows anything about having standards! ...We were talking about Paul, right? The IT guy? No? OH. Drake Mallard. DRAKE MALLARD! Did you know I used to go to high school with that guy? Total dweeb! He's my cubicle mate, yeah! What about him?" Elmo looked off towards the fluorescent lights above, seemingly mesmerized. 

* * *

 

"Mr. Starling. I implore you to consider the scope of my talents and genius- a man of my stature can no longer mingle with the common employee! I have to have a symbol of my status! A lair of sorts! A desk to showcase my worth, you know what they say about big desks after all!" 

 

Mr. Starling frowned, looking down over his own desk. "...No. What do they say?"

 

"...I didn't really hear, it was in passing mostly. Just. Forget it. The point here is that nobody here is going to take me seriously if I'm sitting next to the resident Bulb Brain!"

 

"Mr. Mallard, if you're looking to set some sort of standard by which your coworkers treat you, might I recommend not referring to them as Bulb Brains? Or any kind of name at all? You're setting an example after all, yes?"

 

"...Yes, but I would also like to demonstrate my sense of honesty, like as in, honestly, he's insane, and I'm not going to deny it."

 

"You realize that speaking this way is very insensitive and is a violation of the code of conduct."

 

"Well if I had an office, no one would have to hear it."

 

"Unfortunately that's just not how it works. Now, down the line, should this position prove to be successful, we might discuss a different structure situation, but as of right now, we'd rather you stay where you are."

* * *

 

There was grumbling when Drake returned to the cubicle, unsuccessful in his plea, before soon after, Elmo had glanced behind himself, staring at an elaborate house of manilla folders stacked up against one another as some sort of makeshift divider within the already cramped cubicle.

 

"What are you doing NOW?!"

 

"What does it look like I'm doing? If he won't give me my own office, I'll have to get creative!"

 

"How am I supposed to move like this! What if I have to stretch! This is a safety hazard! You're cutting off my air supply--"

 

"Oh for the love of-- Elmo! There's plenty of air, you're breathing right this second!"

 

"I can't work this way, I'm getting claustrophobic--" Elmo reached for a pair of scissors and stabbed them through the wall, which came toppling down.

 

"ELMO, WHAT ARE YOU DOING! It took me a half hour of company paid time to build that!"

 

"I poked an air hole, it's fine now, I'm fine." He grinned over at his irritated cubicle mate, a sea of manilla folders now scattered over the floor. "See?"

 

* * *

 

"....The men's bathroom isn't so bad, considering. Nice spacious stalls. Lighting could use some work. I can actually think here--" There was the sound of a flush as Drake spoke behind one of the closed doors, and a fellow employee stepped out, looking into the camera with discomfort.

 

"....Why are you guys filming in here?"

 

"It's my new office."

 

"...That sucks."

* * *

 

"...Drake Mallard. Wasn't he the IT guy? Great guy. Should get a promotion actually." Elmo nodded vapidly. 


End file.
